by Mike Simmons
A short, little man with a round belly approached him. His full beard followed his jaw-line up to his ears, where the hair thinned out considerably. The top of his bald head glistened with sweat. Rubbing his hands together as if they were cold, the little man hollered up to him. “You want a table tonight mate, or ya just lookin’ for a seat at the bar?”
The watcher sized up the area around him, trying to spot any open tables close to the door. As his eyes scanned the dimly lit room, he saw something that made his stomach lurch. A man sat in the back of the room, alone at the table in the corner. He stared at the watcher with his elbows on the table. It was him; the man he followed. His eyes stared deep at the watcher, and even though they were a soft blue, they were unblinking and cold as death. A small smile split his lips. The watcher froze as the man in the corner brought his hand up, and with his forefinger, signaled him over.
The watcher looked back to the barman in front of him, who patiently waited for an answer.
“No, thank you, I seem to have a table already.”
The small man gave a quick nod, dismissing him, and headed back behind the counter to help the patrons at the bar. The watcher kept his eyes locked upon the man in the corner as he maneuvered slowly around the packed tables. The man at the table, thicker and more formidable than those around him, sat with confidence; his knuckles were dry and slightly cracked, and large defined veins in his hands ran up through his considerable forearms. Tufts of feathery hair, bronze and blond in color, fluted out of the base of his blackened leather skullcap, which encircled around the top of his ears and the middle of his forehead. His eyes, soft blue and unblinking, burned with confidence. As the watcher approached the edge of the table, the man spoke in a low, questioning voice as he scanned the watcher before him. The man's eyes locked waist high on the watcher.
“Evangeline. Is that your wife?" he asked. The watcher gasped. How could he possibly know about my wife? The watcher’s wife passed away years ago and he felt his face flush as he suddenly became nervous. The man at the table motioned towards the watcher’s hand. A small tattoo, two angel wings protecting the name Evangeline, showed on his wrist. The watcher glanced down at the tattoo with relief.
“Are you . . . Edward?” the man at the table asked.
The watcher stepped backward, throwing his hood to his shoulders. Edward had thinning hair that stretched down past the top of his shoulders, but had no hair on the top of his sun-spotted head. The wrinkles on his face, shooting out from the sides of his eyes, layering his forehead, and wrapping around his mouth, betrayed him old enough to be someone’s grandfather.
“How do you know my name? I have never seen you before. What . . .” Edward paused briefly. “How do you know my name?" His eyes stared at the man at the table looking for answers.
The man at the table flipped a small hourglass between his fingers, tapping its base on the table; every spin making the brown sand flail around chaotically within its prison. He laughed in disbelief as he stared at the old man in front of him.
“Sit down, Edward. I think I need to talk to you," he said, stone-cold, as he gestured to a chair with his hand.
“Please, sit. I knew I would meet you tonight, and I knew your name would be Edward. What are the odds?” he said, joking. Edward sat in disbelief of the whole situation.
“Please, I don’t mean you harm, I’ve only been following you because I saw . . .”
A stern look shot through the man’s face as he interrupted Edward.
“You’ve been following me? How long have you been watching me? What makes you think this is okay? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t get the town guards involved." He angrily shook his head, and his expression turned to disgust.
“Please, let me explain.” Edward protested, holding up both hands. “I will answer all of your questions. My name is Edward Poggintop and I work for the Mayor’s council. I am an advisor on the interpretation of the prophecies."
“Wait,” interrupted the man angrily. “Interpretation of the prophecies? Are you serious? What is the Mayor doing poking his head into the readings of the prophecy? That’s not something a Mayor should be doing. He isn’t important enough be given the rights to know or read anything about the prophecies." The man’s eyebrows pointed inward, as his look of disgust grew. Edward nodded his head, trying to indicate that he understood where the opposing man came from.
“That is why I am here, actually. Mayor Hancock has an influential brother working for Lord Reinhold. We receive copied scripts of the prophecies. I interpret them, and give Mayor Hancock my perspective of the readings. We hope the information will aid us in defeating our adversaries. I am quite good at understanding them,” he said with a proud smile on his face. Once his eyes caught the other man’s, Edward quickly withdrew his smile and proceeded.
“I am also gifted." As he said this, the other man leaned to the back of his chair; replacing his look of disgust with surprise, and worry.
“I am gifted of the Mind Sphere. I am not only psionic, but I am a Sensor as well. I am sure you are not unfamiliar with being gifted; I sensed the magic from you the first day I saw you." Edward peered into his eyes, which looked back curiously. “In any case, I have this ability, which allows me to see auras around people. I can’t do it all the time, and not everyone has an aura. That is the reason I am here, because of the aura I see around you. Two days ago, as I walked down the road in front of the library, I noticed a young woman sitting on the steps next to a young man. They were obviously fighting, about something or another. She had a crimson red aura all around her, but he had none. As I continued in my travels, I noticed a man with a green aura around him, but as I watched him, it faded. I have no explanations of what they mean. They vary with every person I see, but there is always something concrete about the auras; they are always changing, and they never stay. I saw the woman again from the steps of the library yesterday when I was on my way from the Mayor’s office. She had no aura at all.”
“Ok, but what does that have to do with me?" His eyes scrunched down irritably as he spun the small hourglass in his fingers.
“I’m getting to that part. Please, let me finish. Thirteen days ago as I headed home from work, I saw a man heading into the cemetery. He had an aura around him, and it was unlike anything I have ever seen. It was purple, and as it stretched outwards, it shifted into a stronger golden one. I stopped and watched him trail out of my sight. It was late and I was hungry, so I headed home, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him." The man watched him with absorbing eyes.
“Two days later, I saw him again. He headed down the street past old Johnson’s corner store. The aura was still around him, but the purple color faded into all gold, and it was bright. I wondered if this was a coincidence, so I followed him to his house. I’ve been watching him now for eleven days, and I’ll be buggered if I know why, but that aura has not faded in the slightest bit. I have seen a few others, like the purple one, but the strong, steady golden one always dwarfs them. The man I saw in the cemetery that day was you.”
Momentary silence broke up the conversation. The man at the table finally spoke. “Can you see it now? I mean, is that aura still around me?”
“Yes, as strong as I’ve ever seen it. Now please, you know why I am here; may I get your name?" Edward’s eyebrows rose as he extended his hand out to the man at the table. The man shook his head for a brief moment, as if lost to himself.
“Yes, I’m sorry. My name is Brandon, Brandon Pike." Brandon reached his hand out and shook the old man’s twig-like hand.
“Now you know about me Brandon, may I please know how on earth you knew my name, and how you knew that you would meet me today? You aren’t a Visionary, are you? A seer? Did you dream this?" He seemed excited to find out.
“No, none of that." Brandon reached to his neck, pulling on the silver chain that revealed a black satin bag from underneath his shirt. He untied the golden silk cord that held it tightly closed and pulled out a folded sheet
of paper. Upon doing this, Edward shot backwards, almost tipping his chair.
“What is that . . . the magic . . . it’s incredible. . .” He could not get the words to come out. As he unfolded the paper, Edward saw a page torn from of a book. He could see words written on it in dull red ink. The magic it gave off took his breath away.
As he spoke, Edward jutted forward, anxiously pressing his stomach anxiously against the table. With his arms crossed in front of him, Edward listened intently, trying not to miss a single word.. His eyes were still wide open.
“This was given to my caretaker when I was a baby. My mother and father died when I was too young to remember. My caretaker’s name was Margaret and she was supposed to give it to me when I was old enough to read it, but she never did. Not until she sat in her deathbed did she take the writings on this page seriously. Margaret was a great woman; she raised me with all the love and care that anyone could ever ask for. She took me as her own, and I loved her. She was the mother I never had, but she was not in the greatest of health. As she lay in bed, dying, she told me that the writings on this paper were real, and that I was never supposed to let anyone know that I had it. She said I must keep it in this bag at all times, and never let it leave my sight. Margaret passed away that night, on the first day of summer. That was the summer that the dragon fires of Arbedon burned out of control. The fires burned nonstop for three months." As he said this, Brandon flipped the paper around so Edward could see the top of it.
“A loved one will die of a broken heart.”
First day of Summer. Year of the Fire. Age of War.
As he finished reading, Brandon pulled the page back. Edward’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened. His eyes darted to the left and to the right, as if thinking a thousand different things at once.
“Son! Do you have any idea of what you hold in your hand? That is a page of the prophecy! A real page! Not a copy!”
Brandon looked around to make sure no one heard the old man whispering excitedly. No one paid them any attention. Edward seemed to understand his concern, and lowered his voice to a loud whisper.
“True prophecy pages are written in the Blood of the Seers! Oh my, this is beyond my wildest dreams! Do you have any idea of what that is worth? Where did that come from?”
Brandon held his palm up to Edward, signaling him to stop.
“At first I thought this was just a coincidence. I mean, that saying could have meant anything. Year of the Fire, it says. There is no such thing. The fact that the dragon fires were burning everything down was no indication at what that meant. I was doubtful, until two years ago. My best friends growing up was Matthew; we spent our youth getting into trouble. We did everything together. Well, it was festival time, and our town was jumping with excitement. We were young and excited to see what trouble we could get into. Matthew got a hair-brained idea to grab a hornet’s nest and drop it in old lady Schumacher’s fortune telling tent. There were many people there. As quick as he thought it up, he turned his idea into action and headed out to find the nest." Brandon’s eyes dropped to the floor. Sadness and regret weighed upon his face.
“We couldn’t find the nest. We were well into the forest’s edge when we heard it." His eyes came up and met Edward’s.
“A black bear stood thirty paces from where we stopped. She had cubs with her and she roared at us in defense. We ran as fast as we could, but it was not fast enough. The mother bear chose Matthew that day. As I ran for help I could hear him screaming. We found his body the next morning, some sixty paces from where I remember him being. It was the 27th day of the month, which hits home when you read something like this." Brandon flipped the page around one more time for Edward to see.
“The love for a child will bring blood, and another broken heart will be born.”
27th Day, Season of the Festival, Age of War.
Edward shook his head with disbelief. “I am so sorry for your loss Brandon, but the prophecies can't predict when they will happen. We are lucky if we know an age, let alone a season, or a day! It is impossible!”
Brandon pulled the page back again and began reading.
“A man branded in the name of the dead on his left hand must be trusted. If he is true, Edward will be his name. It is dated, for today. Night four, Spring, Age of War." Brandon looked up. Edward’s jaw hung open in complete shock. Edward tried to speak, but he could not make a sound. He closed his mouth, swallowed, and tried again.
“I don’t understand,” Edward said, frustrated. “The degree of certainty and the amount of detail put into this prophecy is overwhelming and substantial. No one has been able to envision names, and the ability to give exact dates is simply impossible. Edward shook his head in skepticism and raised his eyes as if something new had come to him. “Wait. There was one man. Hion Starseer.” Edward about fell over with shock when he heard Brandon speak the name at the exact same time as he did.
“His name is written up here,” Brandon explained, as he pointed to the upper right hand corner of the page within his hands.
“There are more, three more, actually." He looked back down to the paper as he quoted. “For he who bears the Red Star, these three signs signify change. Embrace of the change will lead to life. Death will come on the wings of She of the Grey Eye within one spin of the Keeper’s Glass from the final sign. Moreover, the last one is incomplete; it appears the rest must have been written on the next page. Unfortunately, this is the only page I was given, so I do not know how it finishes. It says, When White and Red are One, White will turn Red as the Hand of Eight drops. That is all I have. I have searched my house high and low trying to find any other pages, but they are not there.”
Edward sat still, looking like he saw a ghost. All of a sudden, a shocked expression shot across his face.
“Did you say he who bears the Red Star?" He spat out urgently.
“Yes, it’s in the next writing after the script that tells me about you,” Brandon said casually, apparently not getting what Edward implied.
“How do you know it’s you then? I mean, are you the one who bears a red star, are you him?” Edward had trouble saying his thoughts. “Do you bear a red star?”
Brandon looked at him briefly, and brought his forehead down to meet his rising hand. With his fingers, he tipped his leather skullcap back and pulled it off. Brandon’s feathery hair reached a peak at the top of his forehead. Edward narrowed his eyes as he stared. From underneath Brandon’s widow’s peak, two lines went up out of view into his thick hair, about an inch apart, and streamed down to the center of his forehead in a point. It had a faded, blue outline, similar to an aged tattoo, and a faded red filled the inside. Edward looked at the design with scrunched eyebrows.
“It’s a four pointed star. When I shave my head, you can see it. I have had it as long as I can remember. Margaret told me I was born with it.”
Edward took in a long breath as his eyes opened wider and wider.
“You are the one! Oh my, you are the one!" Edward’s eyes shot to the left and to the right. The burly patron behind him turned his head and scowled in their direction, showing his distaste for Edward’s loud excitement. Edward hushed his voice as rambled words in quiet mumbles to himself, faster than what Brandon could understand. He seemed to be asking himself questions, then answering them and then rebutting his own answers.
“What are we going to do next, Edward? Do we have a plan?”
Edward stopped gabbing to himself, and with his thumb and forefinger, he pinched his lower lip into a point.
“Hrm. We must get to Victorville. My sister lives there. She will help us make sense of all this prophecy. She is gifted, too. We should get some supplies ready and leave first thing in the morning. This won’t be a problem, will it?”
“Edward,” Brandon said gravely. “Death is coming. Soon. We have fewer than twenty-four hours.”
Edward stopped dead when he said this.
“Twenty-four hours, where do you come up with that figure?" Edward
now looked concerned.
“The prophecy says Death will come on the wings of She of the Grey Eye within one spin of the Keeper’s Glass from the final sign. As far as I can tell, meeting you was the final sign. One spin of the keeper’s glass is twenty-four hours. Tomorrow, death will come on the wings of She of the Grey Eye, whoever that may be,” Brandon explained.
The look on Edward’s face purveyed confusion and misunderstanding. Brandon caught the look, and explained.
“Matthew’s mother runs The Lamb and Axe Handle." Brandon nodded his head north. “It’s the first inn by the north gate. Matthew and I used to run through there as if it was our personal playground. She always had small hourglasses up by the key wall, which she would flip whenever a patron would come for a room. They paid for a room for twenty-four hours, and that is what they got. They were called the Keeper’s Glass." Brandon snapped the hourglass in his hand down to the table; its sand began falling down to the empty space in the bottom. “The timer is ticking. Death will be coming.”
The sun would not rise for an hour, but people tended their pastures and fed their animals. Brandon sat at the kitchen table, stuffing a small wool blanket into an already full backpack. He had not slept, not because he could hear Edward loudly snoring from the small couch he had in the entry room, but because his mind could not stop racing from all that had landed in his lap the night before.
“Good morning,” Edward said, sleepily. Brandon glanced over his shoulder to him. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and his hair stuck out in tangled disorder around his neck.
“Good morning, Edward. How did you sleep?”
“I slept fine, thank you, didn’t sleep too heavy, though, I had too much on my mind.”
Brandon chuckled as he moved the wool blanket to the side of the backpack to fit two long candles inside.
“Could have fooled me, you snored like an angry bison,” Brandon said, still smiling.